


Dear Jim

by AnEarHat



Category: Third Star (2010)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining, References to Suicide, urgent compulsion to cuddle Davy lots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 19:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnEarHat/pseuds/AnEarHat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little while after he returns from Barafundle, Davy decides to write James a letter and tell him everything at last.</p><p>'I don't know how many days it's been. Ten, maybe. Probably more. I think I slept through one of them but apart from that I haven't closed my eyes. I don't deserve rest and I don't want it. I want you, Jim. Jesus Christ this is horrible. You know how terrible I am at drinking - lightweight of the group - but this guy called Jack Daniels is doing his best to take your place. It isn't working, but I've drank a bottle of his medicine every day. I'm just about sober enough to write this now. I keep fucking dropping the pen though.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Jim

Dear Jim,

You won't read this. Obviously. I won't even send it anywhere. I won't even keep it. I'll probably burn it or throw it at a happy person. But I just needed to get it out there. To tell everything properly, even if it's only to this bit of paper.

I love you, Jim. I really do. As in I am in love with you and I always have been and I always will be and I never knew what to do about it and now that I know what I should have done it is too late. You're gone and you're not coming back and I was too in denial to even say goodye properly. My last words to you, the last words you ever heard me say, was me shouting that I had foot cramp. I did shout you after, just before you did it, but I don't think you heard me. Probably for the best, I was going to tell you.

I'm such an idiot. I had years to tell you. I could have told you before you got ill. I could have told you whilst you were ill. I could have told you during the trip. I could have told you at any time and I should have told you all the time. It came over me at the very last second like this great powerful force, screaming at me that I needed to tell you. Bill was dragging me back to shore and I was crying so hard that I thought I was drowning too. Which I wouldn't have minded, really. I was crying and he was holding me and I told him everything. I told Bill and not you. I told him how much I love you and how stupid I was for never letting you know and I just snapped. I started thrashing about and shouting you. I don't remember being aware of anything except that I had to tell you. I don't know what I expected to achieve. Bill held me and told me that it would have just made things worse, and in a way I suppose he was right. It wouldn't have changed anything, you wouldn't have come back and even if you did you would have slowly deteriorated and gotten worse and worse. We still would not have had a happy ending. But at least I would have known. I would have known if you felt the same. I don't know whether that would have made it better or worse. But I would have known how you felt and the fact that I don't and never will is eating away at me. Miles told me that you did feel the same, but I'll never know for sure whether he means it or whether he's trying to console me. If he is, it doesn't work. I feel hollow.

I don't know how many days it's been. Ten, maybe. Probably more. I think I slept through one of them but apart from that I haven't closed my eyes. I don't deserve rest and I don't want it. I want you, Jim. Jesus Christ this is horrible. You know how terrible I am at drinking - lightweight of the group - but this guy called Jack Daniels is doing his best to take your place. It isn't working, but I've drank a bottle of his medicine every day. I'm just about sober enough to write this now. I keep fucking dropping the pen though.

The trip home was horrible. People came to take your body away and we all had to give statements, though I'm pretty sure we all sounded like stunned, mumbling robots. I didn't want them to take you away even though I knew you weren't in there anymore. But they took you all the same, and then we packed the stuff silently and left. I packed your things to take home to your mum, but I kept the scarf that you always wore. Miles saw me put it in my jacket and nodded at me, but he didn't say anything. It still smells like you. A kind of strange mix of soap and cinnamon and morphine. It makes my tummy flip.

I wonder what you're doing now. Are you tapdancing across the firmament like you wanted? Or dancing in the flickerlight? I bet you are, you pretentious bourgeois fuck. You'd invent your own afterlife even if there wasn't one just so you could get your own way.

I miss you so fucking much. I never thought anything could hurt like this. Now I know how you felt.

No, sorry, I shouldn't have said that.

But I do miss you. I miss looking after you and spending the days with you while I helped look after you. I miss the good days when I'd take you for drives into the country and put your terrible CDs on loud. When we'd get chinese food and play on Crash Bandicoot on your old ps2. When we'd just talk about the most stupid shit for hours on end. And, even though I hate myself for it, I even miss the bad days when you would just lie in silence and have me stroke your hair. I miss them just because you were there and because that was when you truly needed me. I miss everything about you, and all the things we did. And it sounds stupid, but I even miss the things we never got chance to do. Maybe that's because I'm going insane, but still.

None of it matters, though. Perhaps I'm being selfish and stupid, but I don't like this. Not one bit.

See you soon,

Davy xxx

**Author's Note:**

> Yes it says 'See you soon' because of the reason you're thinking it does. Sorry sorry SORRY.


End file.
